


Close to Home

by Mntsnflrs



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Awkward Sexual Situations, Fluff and Humor, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, just guys being stupid dudes what could be better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-01-29 18:56:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21415039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mntsnflrs/pseuds/Mntsnflrs
Summary: As far as housemates go, Yuta isn’t the worst one Doyoung has had.Sometimes it feels like he’s trying to earn the title, though.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 87
Kudos: 1122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This kind of follows on from another of my fics (Familiar, which is a short JohnTen) but it isn't necessary to the plot or anything so I didn't want ppl to feel like they have to read both to understand! Just a heads up, and I hope everyone enjoys xo

As far as housemates go, Yuta isn’t the worst one Doyoung has had.

Sometimes it feels like he’s trying to earn the title, though.

The first couple of weeks are... fine. Doyoung meets Yuta under Johnny’s recommendation, and when they don’t immediately fight over coffee, his mood starts to brighten. He’s not looking for a soul mate, after all, just someone to share his kitchen and bathroom with, someone who can pay bills on time and knows how to clean the toilet every other week.

Yuta is better looking than Doyoung had expected when Johnny had offered up the number of his ‘freelance dance bro,’ but really, he should have expected someone hot, sicne all of Johnny's friends look like models. He kind of expected Yuta to be like Ten, as the only other dancer Doyoung had for personal reference; small and sharp and beautiful, but instead, Yuta is average height, sharp and beautiful. He shakes Doyoung’s hand once they sign the lease together, and his grip is warm and tight. Confident like his smile.

“It’ll be nice to have a home for a while,” he says, sitting back and taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve been travelling for the past few years, so I’ve only managed to visit every other month or so. This’ll be great.”

Doyoung nods. He’s already finished his tea, so now he’s just waiting a polite amount of time until he can excuse himself and leave. “I’m sure living together will be perfectly fine.”

Yuta laughs, but Doyoung isn’t sure what exactly was meant to be funny. “Why’d you decide to rent your spare room anyway?”

“Before my boyfriend left it was my office, but with him gone I can’t afford the rent on my own. I moved my desk into my bedroom and converted the space into a spare room so that I don’t have to move.”

Yuta raises his brows, but leaves his opinions to himself. “Lucky me then,” he says. “Needing a room and all. I checked out another place yesterday, but the landlady was weird. Asked me if I’d mind sharing my room with her grandchildren when they came to visit – like that’s fucking weird, right? Who lets her grandkids near a strange twenty something old man?”

“Maybe they’re adults.”

Yuta shudders. “Somehow that’s worse.”

With everything else signed and filed away, neatly stacked in Doyoung’s bag and ready to take to his landlord, he figures now is the time to lay down the rules. “Yuta, I won’t make you share your room with anyone, but there’s a couple of things we’ll need to agree on before you can move your belongings in.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Yuta leans back in his chair and spreads his legs, unapologetically crass for midday in a busy coffee shop. His jeans are too tight. Doyoung’s mouth tightens.

“The first thing I want to cover is housework,” Doyoung says, looking anywhere but Yuta’s lap. “I don’t expect you to keep the shared living space sterile, but I want you to clean up after yourself. We can keep a rota for shared chores if that makes it easier for you to remember, but I was hoping we could alternate tasks like cleaning the bathroom and kitchen.”

Yuta presses his lips together, though the corner of his lips twitch upward, like he’s fighting down laughter again. “Okay. You got it.”

“Good. Second are guests. I work from home most of the time, so if you have people over between the hours of eleven and five, I’d appreciate some warning. Try to keep the noise down, at the very least. Weekends, early morning and evenings are fine as long as long as you check in with me every now and again. I appreciate it’s going to be your home, but keep in mind that it’s my home too.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s it for now, bar the obvious. No peeing up the walls or smearing food on the couch. Just keep it civilised.”

Yuta smiles, bright and twinkly. “You’ve got it, boss.”

-

For a while he does have it.

It’s nice, because he’s rarely ever home, and Doyoung feels like he’s still living alone. When he mentions it to Ten one evening on the balcony their apartments share, Ten nods.

“He hasn’t been in the country for a while now, so he has a lot of legal stuff to sort out, along with professional stuff.”

“Professional stuff?”

“He’s signing to teach classes in a local dance studio.”

“Ah.”

“You’d know this if you talked to him.”

“I just explained that he’s never home.”

Ten rolls his eyes and drains his mug of tea. “Whatever, I’m going back to bed.”

“Sleep well. Tell Johnny I said hey.”

Ten waves a lazy hand. “Always.” He pauses suddenly in the doorway, turning around to peer at Doyoung. “Yuta,” he says, “He hasn’t... you know... has he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and judging from that, he probably hasn’t attempted what you’re thinking of.”

Ten looks suspicious, in that pointy, suspicious way he has that always bodes terribly for Doyoung. “Okay, never mind. See you later.”

“Bye,” Doyoung says, mystified.

-

It’s a couple of nights later, while he’s laying in bed with his face sandwiched between pillows, that he asks himself, _Why the hell didn’t I ask Ten what he meant?_

A scream interrupts the thought, drawing out into a long moan.

Yuta laughs, then there’s another blessedly unidentifiable noise, and another scream.

Doyoung presses the pillows closer to his head. He half hopes he’ll suffocate himself, but god knows that would be too easy a way to go, and someone really wants Doyoung to suffer.

When Yuta had told Doyoung he was having a friend over for drinks, Doyoung hadn’t expected this.

_“Look at you take it like that,”_ Yuta moans, loud enough to reach Doyoung through the conjoined wall and his barricade of pillows. He presses his legs together, uncomfortable with how low Yuta’s voice is, how the words raise goosebumps on his skin, how the squeal of Yuta’s partner immediately dulls the feeling.

_“You’re being so good for me.”_

To: Ten  
IM GOING TO THROW MYSELF OFF OUR BALCONY.

Yuta moans then, louder than his companion, so loud that Doyoung just knows he’s going to wake up to pointed emails about noise levels.

From: Ten  
Yeah. He’s really horny. Sorry lol

Doyoung gets up and stumbles to his desk, fishing around for the earphones he knows he’s hidden in one of the draws. Once he finds the tangle he climbs back into bed, shoves the buds in his ears and puts on the first playlist he finds, cranking up the volume until all he can hear is Chet Baker and the occasional thud.

He doesn’t sleep, but the music is better than the moans.

-

“Good morning!” Yuta says brightly the next day. He’s in baggy shorts and an oversized shirt, littered in love bites. His long hair is messy, his eyes sated, his smile cocky and knowing. “Coffee?”

Doyoung snatches the mug and turns back to his room. “Make him wear a gag next time.”

He hears Yuta laughing even after he’s slammed the door closed.

-

Except next time it’s a woman, and she does wear a gag.

It muffles her noises, but it doesn’t stop Yuta’s.

-

“You said between eleven and five I need to be quiet!” Yuta defends himself the following morning.

“I assumed you would understand that between eleven at night and five in the morning are also covered by that time period. Maybe I overestimated your intelligence.”

Yuta just laughs, plucking toast from Doyoung’s plate and taking a bite. “Feisty,” he says. “Maybe you’d like to have some fun with the gag, huh?”

“Maybe you’d like me to hang you from the window by your balls,” Doyoung hisses, face flaming. “Let me work and let me _sleep,_ Yuta. I won’t discuss this again.”

Yuta just keeps smiling, munching at Doyoung’s toast without a care in the world. “You’re the boss, Doie.”

“I am,” he says. “Remember that.”

-

The following nights are blessedly quiet, and when Doyoung seems Yuta it’s oddly pleasant. They say hello and sometimes watch TV together, not saying much. One evening when Doyoung is cleaning the kitchen, Yuta volunteers to do the bathroom, and he doesn’t do a terrible job of it. Doyoung only has to go over the mirror and change the towels.

“Thanks for helping,” he says begrudgingly.

“No problem. Hey, I’m going out for dinner later with a couple of friends, you wanna come? You don’t seem to leave the apartment much.”

And no, Doyoung doesn’t want to go for pity dinner, but before he can reply his stomach growls, betraying him. He feels himself blush and nods, accepting fate. “Thanks.”

So he puts on some nice jeans and tries not to think about the last time he wore them, which was the last date he’d had with his ex boyfriend where they’d sat for two hours eating slowly and barely talking, only to come home to this apartment and sleep on separate sides of the bed.

The shirt is new, which is nice. The only memory he can associate with the shirt is fighting with Kun and Jungwoo over who would get the free pair of socks that came with their total purchase.

Yuta is waiting for him when he leaves his room, leaning against the couch with his legs crossed at the ankles as he scrolls on his phone. His boots are huge, the soles thick rubber and the maroon leather old and worn. He’s dressed casually, but he looks good. His hair is messy, but it’s always like that. He looks up when Doyoung clears his throat, and it’s difficult to ignore the way Yuta rakes his eyes up and down Doyoung like a man that hasn’t had loud sex at least twice this week. “Damn. You look nice.”

“It’s a new shirt,” Doyoung says, uncomfortable. “Where are we going for dinner? Who’s going?”

“It’s a nice shirt. You suit blue.”

“Where are we going for dinner?”

“Mexican restaurant cool? Sicheng wants guacamole.”

He doesn’t know who Sicheng is or how important guacamole is to the grand scheme of things, but he nods. “Mexican is fine.”

“Awesome, let’s go!”

-

When they arrive at the booth, Ten is sat there with Johnny, and they both wave sheepishly when Doyoung sees them.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Johnny says.

Doyoung throws his jacket at him, but before he can take off something else and throw it at Ten, Yuta puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “I’m gonna get us some drinks honey, what do you want?”

“Dry white wine, whatever they have,” Doyoung says. “Thank you.”

Yuta smiles and squeezes again. “It’s fine. You get the next one, ‘kay? Get sat down and save me a space.”

So Doyoung sits, slightly mollified, and ignores the way Ten ogles him. He offers a hand to one of the two strangers and says as politely as possible, “Hello, I’m Doyoung, Yuta’s housemate.”

“Hi,” the one shaking his hand says. His voice is deep, his skin pretty, his lips beautiful – he looks like some kind of fairy. “I’m Sicheng.”

“Ah,” Doyoung says. “The guacamole fiend.”

Sicheng blushes prettily. “It’s good here, I promise.”

“I’m Mark!” the other guy says, offering his hand for Doyoung to shake. At a closer look, Mark looks to be around eleven years old.

“Hi,” Doyoung says, squinting. “Are you... you know. Old enough to be drinking that beer?”

“I’m twenty one!”

“Are you sure?”

Mark giggles. “Dude, I’m super sure!”

“He’s legal,” Ten says, nodding toward Mark. “He still gets wasted off one beer though. My little baby lightweight.” He makes a kissy face that Mark scowls at.

Doyoung stares at the menu and wishes to be anywhere else until Yuta comes back with their drinks.

“One dry white wine,” Yuta says, passing the glass to Doyoung. When he receives nothing but a quiet thank you, he sits down and puts his hand on Doyoung’s shoulder again. “Hey, Doie. You good?”

“The guacamole better be fucking delicious,” Doyoung says, not looking up from the menu. “If Ten gets his tongue out even once I’m stabbing it with my fork and we’re going home, okay?”

Yuta laughs, low in his chest, slow and oddly comforting. “Okay, honey.”

-

Donghoon calls later that night, while Doyoung is making tea for himself and coffee for Yuta, who is setting up a film he thinks Doyoung will enjoy. Seeing the phone screen flash with his name doesn’t make Doyoung want to throw his phone away like it used to, but it does make him want to vomit. Just a little.

He picks up and hopes his voice comes out normal when he says, “What do you want?”

There’s an awkward pause. “Would it have killed you to say hello?”

“Hello Donghoon,” Doyoung says. “What do you want?”

“I’ve looked at my recent bank statements, and there are a couple of things we bought together that you’ve kept that we need to sort out payments for. I’m away for the next couple of weeks on a trip with work, but I was hoping to see if I could come over when I get back so that we can sort things out in person. It’s a lot of paper, and it’ll be hard to do it over the phone.”

The kettle boils.

Doyoung looks out of the window, at the city beyond, where somewhere, Donghoon is living now, separate from Doyoung. Maybe he’s happy, maybe he isn’t. Maybe he’s found love, maybe he hasn’t.

“Okay,” Doyoung says. He pours water into the two waiting mugs. “Text me when you get back from your trip and we can organise something.”

Donghoon sighs. “Thank you. Thank you for being civilised about this Doyoung, I just-“

“I don’t want your life story,” he cuts in. “Just text me when you want to discuss your bills. Goodbye.” He hangs up and pockets his phone, stirs the coffee, throws the spoon in the sink, and sighs. He turns around to fetch the milk and almost jumps out of his skin when he realises Yuta was leaning in the doorway.

“Hey,” Yuta says. “Didn’t mean to listen in, but I cannot for the life of me understand what this old ass remote controls, because it definitely isn’t the TV.”

Doyoung looks down at the remote, uncomprehending as his heart continues to beat in his throat. “That’s for the air con,” he says faintly. “The television remote is beside the lamp.”

“Ah,” Yuta says. “That makes more sense than this. Thank you.” He pauses. “Is that my coffee? Want me to take it through?”

“Sure. I’ll bring my tea through when I’m done in here.”

“Cool!” Yuta grins. “You’re gonna love this film dude, it’s great.”

Doyoung smiles, and he knows it looks fake, but it’s all he can manage. “I’m sure I will.”

He doesn’t.

Forty minutes into it, he’s flinching every time someone’s murdered on screen, hiding behind a pillow whenever a shrill scream rings through the room.

Yuta pauses the film and puts the overhead light on before kneeling on the floor to fiddle with his laptop.

“What are you doing?” Doyoung asks, disoriented.

“You’re clearly not enjoying the film, so I’m putting something else on,” Yuta says, like it’s obvious. “What’re you into, comedy? Romance? Thriller? I’m an action man myself, but I can understand why most of them are like, on a plot level, boring as fuck. What do you fancy?”

Doyoung just stares. “You turned the film off because I don’t like it?”

Yuta looks back at him, confused. “Of course I did.”

Doyoung swallows the lump in his throat. “Thriller.”

“You got it. Have you seen this?” He pulls up a title Doyoung can’t ready past his blurry vision, so he just shakes his head. “Great! We’ll see if you like it. Tell me if you don’t okay? There’s millions of films out there, we can take the time to find one you like.”

“Okay,” he whispers. When he smiles this time, it feels more genuine. “Thank you, Yuta.”

Yuta flops back onto the couch and grins. “It’s no big deal, you don’t have to thank me.”

But it is a big deal.

Doyoung turns back to the screen.

He enjoys the film.

-

He wakes up on Saturday morning to what sounds like two simultaneous orgasms, or two people being murdered.

The track record means he takes his time getting up, washed, and dressed before he knocks on Yuta’s door to check that everyone is alive.

Yuta opens the door in just his underwear, hair a disarray, skin red, covered in a sheen of sweat. He smiles at Doyoung, eyes heavy, and now that Doyoung knows just what Yuta looks like post orgasm he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to recover. “Everyone alive?” he asks.

Yuta laughs. “Depends on who you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you. Did you murder anyone?”

“No, Doie, everyone in here is happily alive.”

“Great,” Doyoung says faintly. “Great. I’m making stir fry for lunch. Will they be staying?”

Yuta peers back into the room. “Uh, probably not. Can I have some?”

“Sure,” he says. “I’m just gonna. Uh. I’m going to see a friend. Have a... good morning.”

“You too!”

-

“Oh no,” Kun says immediately. “Last time you wore that expression we both hated the outcome. What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” Doyoung says, avoiding his shrewd gaze. “Nothing. Anyway, what tea have you ordered me?”

“Berry, it’s good for your digestive system. I got honeysuckle for myself,” Kun says. “But seriously what’s happened?”

The coffee shop is busy, and Doyoung looks around for a moment, seeing if anything is notable enough to be used to distract Kun. Sadly, there’s nothing. “I just heard Yuta having sex. Again.”

“Yuta the new housemate?”

“Obviously.”

“Yuta the dancer stud housemate?”

His eye twitches. “Yes, Kun.”

“So... he sounds hot?”

_“Yes,_ Kun. What do you want me to say? He’s attractive and now I know how he looks and sounds after orgasm and it’s made me feel more than slightly awkward.”

Their tea arrives and Kun takes a sip before he decides to answer. “Not to channel Ten, but have you tried flirting?”

“It’s a good job I haven’t picked up this tea yet Kun because if you’d said that to me while I was holding the mug I would have thrown it directly into your face.”

Kun blinks rapidly. “Testy. I’m trying to help you, here.”

“Try helping in silence.”

Kun just smiles. “I haven’t seen you this red since we were in college. Is he really that hot?”

“It’s not that he’s hot – I mean he _is_, but he’s just...” Doyoung stops. “I don’t know. He’s funny and kind. Weird, but nice. We get along pretty well.”

“That’s enough for now,” Kun says. He reaches over the table and puts his hand on Doyoung’s. “You enjoy living with him, and that’s all you need for now. Just enjoy yourself and see what happens.”

Doyoung hums. He squeezes Kun’s hand and then pulls away to reach for his mug of berry tea, which tastes like ass. He doesn’t say anything though, just sips it and makes what he hopes is a vaguely appreciative noise.

-

Yuta is chopping vegetables when Doyoung gets home, but he stops and grins when he hears Doyoung lock the door. “Hey!” he shouts. “I’ve started the chopping for lunch, is there anything else I can do?”

“It’s fine,” Doyoung says, rolling up his sleeves so he can wash his hands and start the meal prep. “I’ve got it.”

“Oh,” Yuta says, smile dimming a little. “I wanted to help you.”

_I haven’t seen you this red since we were in college._

Doyoung hasn’t prepared a meal with another person since he was in college, either. There’s a rhythm that comes with sharing a kitchen as a meal cooks, one person adding salt while the other rifles through the fridge to find a missing ingredient. It’s a domestic dance, and Doyoung has forgotten all the steps. He’s scared of embarrassing himself, of showing too much or stumbling or hurting himself.

“Okay,” he says finally. “You can help.”

Yuta lights up. “I can? Sweet! What do you need me to do?”

“If I cook the chicken can you start on the sauce? You’ll need to get the ingredients out but it shouldn’t take long to make, just some soy and garlic, chilies maybe.”

Yuta salutes, still smiling. “You’ve got it, honey.”

And – he doesn’t fall.

He stumbles a little when he turns from the stove to get the chopped onion, but Yuta darts out and catches his arm, laughing. “Woah there, slow down MasterChef.”

Doyoung scowls, but his heart is back in his throat, hammering at double speed as he tosses the onion in with the peppers. “Shut up.”

Yuta sticks out his tongue. “Make me.”

He’s too busy with frying to throw anything, but it’s worth it in the end. The stir fry tastes great and he gets to sit on the couch and watch as Yuta finished off two bowls and then leans back, groaning.

“That was so fucking good,” he says, head still back, eyes closed.

Doyoung stares at his adam’s apple. “Good,” he repeats.

Yuta’s eyes open quickly and slide to Doyoung, catching him staring. He smiles. “Delicious.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple of weeks are fine. As fine as the first, anyway. Yuta saves his extremely loud sex for weekends, which is still agony to try and sleep through, but at least means Doyoung can work on weekdays without wanting to cry because of how overtired he is.

As for everything else, well. He’s always been pretty great at ignoring things he didn’t want to see, and if that now includes Yuta’s entire body, face, and personality, he makes it work.

“What is it you do, exactly?” Yuta asks one evening. He’s washing up, while Doyoung makes them drinks; tea and coffee respectively.

“I’m an editor,” Doyoung says. “Being good at what I do has afforded me flexible hours, so most of the time I chose to work at home. There’s an office I could use if I preferred, but I don’t.”

Yuta smiles down at the plates he’s washing. “Yeah? Not one for people really, are you?”

It doesn’t sound like a criticism, which is nice. “Not really, especially not in a professional environment.”

“How old are you?”

Doyoung blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I know how you drink your tea. I know you like to go out onto the balcony at night when you can’t sleep. I know your hate odd numbers because everything is even, from the decorative cushions to the glasses in your cupboard. I know you don’t like horror films, but you don’t like romance very much, either. I know a lot about you, Doyoung, but at the same time I don’t know anything at all.”

He laughs, uneasy. “I could say the same about you.”

Yuta turns around, and the pink rubber gloves should look ridiculous, but they don’t. He’s the kind of guy that suits any environment, like he’d be just as at home on a mountain, a stage, a catwalk, just as comfortable as he is in Doyoung’s small kitchen with his pink rubber gloves and soap suds stuck to the ends of his hair. “I’m twenty five,” he says. “I’ve danced professionally since I was a kid, and was scouted in my early teens. I grew up in Osaka, Japan, but I travel a lot. I went to college with Johnny. I’m bisexual. I’m single, and I really enjoyed the dinner you made us. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Doyoung says.

“Tell me how old you are, come on!”

“Oh. Twenty four.”

“Thank you!” Yuta exclaims, throwing up his gloved hands. “Was it that hard?”

“I nearly choked a couple of times, but I powered through.”

Yuta stares at him for a moment, eyes big and pretty, before he throws his head back and cackles. He tries to wipe his eyes with his gloves and gets soap in his eye and Doyoung has to rush in and help, and he ends up laughing too, trying to splash water from the tap into Yuta’s reddening eyes. Tears of discomfort stream down his face, but he keeps on laughing, smiling up at Doyoung from the sink with those stupid pink rubber gloves holding his eyelids open. “What’s for dessert?” he chokes out.

Doyoung stares down at him, lost. “Ice cream?”

He pokes out his tongue. “Sounds great. You might have to feed me though, my eyesight is fading pretty quickly. I can’t even see your beautiful smile.”

“I...” Doyoung feels himself pull away emotionally before he even think about moving his body. “I’ll get the ice cream.”

-

He thought he was past this. He thought red cheeks and wandering eyes was something he left in college with Jaehyun, but apparently not. Apparently there’s something in Yuta that brings out Doyoung’s uncertainty, his temper and his fragility. Maybe it’s the way Yuta smiles so easily, like each one is a careless gift, unending in source like daisies from a meadow of windflowers. Maybe it’s less pretentious and Doyoung is just sexually frustrated, and staring at the veins that run along Yuta’s tan hands is messing with him. Maybe it’s a mix of both, and the fact that after just under a month living with Yuta feels more like a home than living with Donghoon had felt after almost three years.

“Maybe you’re on the rebound,” Jungwoo says as they shop.

Kun makes a noise in his throat and then slides his phone over to Jungwoo, Yuta’s instagram open to show all his beautiful glory.

Jungwoo’s eyes widen. “Oh. Maybe _I’m_ on the rebound.”

“I’d be too,” Kun says, taking his phone back with a sigh.

Doyoung puts bananas in his shopping cart and tries to ignore them. “I’m not on the rebound.”

“You’re probably right. I mean, Donghoon isn’t much to rebound from.”

Jungwoo’s eyes widen, panicked. “Uh,” he says to Kun, “I thought we were still in the sympathetic understanding supportive friend phase of the make Doyoung less lonely plan.”

“I’m bored of pretending Donghoon was nice. Three years is enough.”

“Seriously?” Doyoung asks. _“Seriously?”_

“You know I never liked him. He was scared of Ten which was a terrible sign, and he never made any effort to make you happy.”

“Everyone is scared of Ten at the beginning.”

“Yeah, but they grow out of it once they realise his gremlin nature is surface deep. _He_ never grew out of it, and he _never made any effort to make you happy.”_

Doyoung looks at his shopping list as discomfort writhes in his gut. “I mean, in the end I didn’t try very hard to make him happy either.”

“You tried in the beginning,” Jungwoo says, putting a box of cake mix into Doyoung’s cart. “I’m sure one sided effort for three years would be enough to exhaust anyone.”

“We can’t – I can’t pretend that the relationship failing was just his fault,” Doyoung says. “I can’t ignore my own faults like that.”

“You think we’d let you do that?” Kun asks, taking the cake mix from the cart and putting it back onto the shelf. He picks out some low fat premade cupcakes to combat Jungwoo’s growing pout. “Sweetheart I’m on a diet, if you get cake I’ll cry.” Facing Doyoung again, he says, “If I thought you were at fault I’d tell you, right to your face, no holding back. You deserve the truth, and the truth is that your ex is a sack of rotting garbage and the only reason you lasted this long was because you thought that it was what you deserved.”

“Oh,” he says faintly. “Okay.”

Kun smiles. “Okay? Great! Let’s get this done so we can have lunch and I can hang around a suspiciously long amount of time on your couch waiting for Yuta to turn up.”

“Me too!” Jungwoo chimes.

-

Unsurprisingly, they both love Yuta. He seems to like them just as much, perching on the arm of the sofa next to Doyoung, coffee between his hands, chatting avidly to Kun while Jungwoo makes eyes at Doyoung from behind the shield of his hot chocolate.

It’s really fucking embarrassing.

“- kind of works anyway.” A hand lands in Doyoung’s hair and brushes it from his forehead gently. “Right honey?”

He looks up at Yuta. “What?”

Yuta laughs, his hand still in Doyoung’s hair. This close, he smells like cologne and coffee beans, like Doyoung’s laundry detergent and their grapefruit shower gel. “Our living arrangements work, don’t they? It feels like I was meant to be here.”

His stomach twists sharply. Beneath Yuta’s eyes he feels strong and powerless at the same time. “I guess.”

“Don’t take offence,” Kun says, sliding his exasperated gaze to Doyoung. “That was a lame reply, but it’s still nicer than anything he’s ever said to me and I’ve known him since college.”

Yuta laughs again, hand still stroking at Doyoung’s hair. He addresses Kun like Doyoung isn’t part of the conversation, like he’s not even in the room. “I’m not offended, don’t worry. Patience reaps the best rewards.”

-

From: Jungwoo  
Yuta is a 15th century peasant  
Ur the fields of crops he’s gonna harvest

To: Jungwoo  
What is that supposed to mean?

From: Jungwoo  
He wants to plough you

To: Jungwoo  
Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean I won’t smack you.

From: Jungwoo  
D:

To: Jungwoo  
<3

From: Jungwoo  
:D!<3<3<3

-

Attraction aside, Yuta’s presence in the apartment is almost... nice. When Doyoung has to go to the office plan out marketing strategies or attend meeting with his team, coming home to a dark apartment with cold air and dirty dishes makes him want to drown in the toilet. Coming home to Yuta with his ugly old sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair in a messy bun, trying but failing to cook something without burning it... it isn’t perfect. But it’s nice.

On the days Doyoung stays home it’s nice to hear Yuta shout a goodbye as he leaves, then a hello as he comes back in the early evening, always eager for whatever Doyoung has made for dinner.

Ten sees it in his face before he even knows what _it _is.

“You have that face,” he says one evening while they’re sharing wine on their balcony. Johnny and Yuta are in Doyoung’s apartment playing guitar hero or something, and Ten has decided to use the moment alone to ply Doyoung with alcohol and make him talk about his feelings.

“Thank you for acknowledging I have a face,” Doyoung says. “I wish I could say the same to you. All I see is an ass.”

Ten scoffs. “Har har har,” he says, though the last _har _is muffled in the wine glass. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I can gladly say I don’t know. At all. Lucky me.”

“You have the face.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What face?”

“The, _‘I hate men but there’s one specific man that may be allowed some rights within the next decade’_ face. The face I wore when I fell for _Johnny.”_

Doyoung laughs nervously and tries to choke himself on wine so that he doesn’t have to answer. Unfortunately, Ten just waits for him to finish, staring at him with an unimpressed expression. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me what’s going through that big, boring mind of yours.”

“Very little, sadly.”

Ten laughs. “Let me guess.” He clears his throat and when he speaks again his voice is lower. _“Work. Five vegetables a day. Green tea. Yuta. Laundry. Ten’s too loud. Have I taken out the trash? Yuta’s dick. My dick. Our dicks, together, possibly touching-“_

“I’m going to ring the landlord and get you evicted. I hate you.”

“You’d see my baby Johnny on the streets? How heartless.”

“It’d be your fault.”

“Yeah but he’d never believe it was me.”

Sadly true. Johnny watches Ten wander off and make a mess of things with nothing short of adoration in his eyes, arms outstretched for whenever Ten skips back to him, gleeful. It’s wonderful to see, but at the same time it’s disgusting and Doyoung wants to hate them both more than he knows he ever could. “Johnny can stay with me then, and you can go find another place.”

“I’d just crawl in through the air con like a rat or... I don’t know. What crawls? A gecko?”

“I wish you knew something. Anything, really. Anything would do. Just some sign of life in your head that doesn’t revolve around shaking your ass.”

“Don’t hate me because you can’t have me,” Ten says, winking lavishly. He giggles and pours himself more wine. Through the windows, Doyoung can see Yuta and Johnny laughing at something, falling over each other in their amusement. He can’t help but notice how much smaller than Johnny Yuta is, despite the sturdiness of his build, the strength of his person. It’s almost cute.

Almost.

Doyoung turns back to Ten. “That’s not why I hate you.”

“What other reason could you possibly have?”

Doyoung looks back into the apartment and watches Yuta laugh. He catches Doyoung’s gaze through the window, grins, and then throws the window open, laughing manically. “Doyoung! You gonna come fucking shred with us?”

“I don’t understand whatever frat language you’re speaking.”

“Come play guitar hero, it’ll be fun!”

“I won’t be any good.”

Yuta cackles. “I know, that’s what’ll make it fun!”

After a second of hasty and not very well thought out deliberation, Doyoung stands. He offers a hand for Ten to help him up and mutters, “This is why I hate you.”

“Because of Yuta?”

“Because you never offer me good advice, you just let me do whatever my stupid little heart wants.”

Ten nods. He links arms with Doyoung and drags him towards the apartment. “Maybe you should listen to your stupid little heart more, Doyoung. It’s still smarter than the rest of you.”

-

A couple of nights later, Doyoung gets home late. All his post is bills, other than a single coupon for maternity clothes he’s pretty sure he won’t use. The apartment is dark and silent.

“Yuta?” he calls out, turning on the lights as he walks from room to room.

It’s not until he’s changed into more comfortable clothes than his suit and has wandered into the kitchen that he notices a note is pinned to the fridge.

Doyoung!!!  
@ Johnny + Ten’s, come over when you get home!

He makes himself a sandwich, shovels it down and then slips into his sneakers to head over, following the muffled sound of music and laughter. When he knocks, surprisingly it’s Taeyong that opens the door, a wide, boxy smile across his face. “Doyoung!”

“Taeyong!” Doyoung exclaims, bringing him in for a gentle hug. “You’re back in town!”

“Yeah, we arrived this afternoon!” he glows gently, like a sunflower or a bright tulip, and drags Doyoung inside the apartment. “New York was so cold, and most of it smelt disgusting, would you believe? We liked it, but at the same time we couldn’t wait to come home.”

_We?_

It’s not until Doyoung has made it to the living room that he realises who is still missing. He’s swept up into a tight, comforting hug, lips pressed against his forehead for a tender moment. “Doyoung,” Jaehyun says against his skin, “It’s so good to see you.”

Doyoung eventually regains control of his limbs and hugs Jaehyun back, squeezing him just as tightly as his eyes close. “Hey Jae,” he whispers. “How was New York?”

“Cold and stinky.”

“Like Doyoung!” Ten says from Johnny’s lap.

Doyoung pulls away from Jaehyun just long enough to give Ten his middle finger before going back for another hug. “Your verdict?”

“We’ll be going somewhere warmer for the next extended holiday,” Jaehyun says. He gently pushes Doyoung into a free seat and then sits next to him. Taeyong takes the seat next to Kun and Taeil, who Doyoung greets with a surprised wave.

“I thought you were hibernating?”

Taeil sighs. “I was trying to. Johnny said if I didn't come tonight that he’d have to start calling my neighbours to check that I hadn’t rotted into my bed.”

“Probably a good thing,” Doyoung says skeptically. “You’ve been gone almost as long as Taeyong and Jae.”

“I love you, but the absence was entirely deliberate. You know I need time to myself to be inhuman and eat from the floor like my fellow goat creatures.”

Yuta stares at him, and it’s only when his eyes bulge that Doyoung realises his hair is in a cute little bun. “Dude,” Yuta says to Taeil, “I’ve known you like an hour and I honestly can’t tell if the goat thing is real.”

“It is,” Taeyong says serenely. “In college when he was stressed we’d find him in the park eating grass.”

Yuta’s eyes narrow. “I still don’t know.”

Taeil smiles blankly. “Do I look like a man that would eat grass and pretend to be a goat?”

“Kind... of?”

“I take offence.”

“For me not believing it fully or for suspecting it to be true?”

“Which do you think?”

“You’ll make him cry,” Doyoung intervenes, eyeing Yuta’s growing agitation. “Be nice.”

Taeil turns to him and asks pleasantly, “Since when have you grown a conscience?”

“He started going through his midlife crisis a couple of weeks ago, be gentle with him,” Ten says, leaning forward to pat Doyoung’s knee. “God, imagine being his age, it must be horrifying. Ugly old bitch.”

“Just because this is your apartment doesn’t mean I won’t shove my foot up your asshole,” Doyoung says.

Ten flutters his lashes. “Cherry lube or strawberry?”

Kun claps his hands. “Okay! Thank you everyone for a wonderful twenty minutes, but since you’ve all got the mental age of infants, I think I’m going to go and throw myself into traffic.”

“What have I done?” Jaehyun asks.

“Just because you haven’t said something stupid yet doesn’t mean you’re not going to do it.”

Jaehyun laughs, pulling Doyoung from his seat and hugging him hard. “Doie, defend me!”

Doyoung stares at Kun and tries not to tense at the way Yuta’s eyes had snapped to Jaehyun’s hands on Doyoung’s arms, the points of contact between them. “Kun, if you want to be an old man go and hibernate with Taeil.”

Ten snorts. “Says the walking personification of a used tissue.”

Doyoung points at him. “Last warning. I won’t take my shoe off, that’s going up there too.”

Johnny kisses Ten’s cheek and smiles. “Shut up, Ten.”

Ten sighs. “Okay, but only because you’re sexy as fuck.”

Jaehyun pulls Doyoung onto his lap and laughs against his back, hooking his chin over Doyoung’s shoulder, and Doyoung makes a valiant effort not to stare at the way Yuta is _still _staring.

Kun meets his eye and winks, taking a sip of hip of his cider. He’s distracted pretty quickly when Ten tries to unbuckle Johnny’s pants, which is a strange way to be saved, but Doyoung is still grateful for the circumstances. And his friends. He’s pretty grateful for those too.

-

Is it petty to be pleased? To have his overthinking validated? Is it sad the way he feels his whole body light up when he and Yuta enter their own apartment just after midnight and Yuta flips the lights on, heads into the kitchen to make coffee, and says, “So you and Jaehyun, huh?”

“Huh,” Doyoung says, fighting to keep his expression neutral as he follows Yuta and gets out their mugs. “No, not really.”

“Not really?” Yuta’s voice is blank. “What does not really mean?”

“Not for years. Not since college.”

“Sure looked like there was still something there from my perspective. You know, as an outsider.”

Doyoung passes him the milk. “For one, you’re not an outsider, you've been here over two months. You’re just as much our friend as anyone else in that group. You’re also wrong. I said not since college and I meant it.”

“You look close.”

“We are.” Doyoung smiles. “We love each other, but not like that. Not for a long time.”

“But you did, huh? Use the L word like adults.”

Yuta stirs the coffee and passes a mug to Doyoung, waiting for him to put the milk away before wandering into the living room. They both sit on the couch, Yuta with his legs spread, Doyoung with his curled under him. He cups the mug and inhales the familiar scent of his coffee made perfectly, as Yuta always manages. “We said love, yeah. Again, past tense. We were only together for around nine months.”

“How come?”

“What?”

“How come you were only with him nine months if you loved him, and yet for some reason Kun said your last boyfriend lived here for three years and you didn’t love him at all?”

Doyoung feels the way his expression shutters. “That’s a very invasive thing to ask.”

“You want my relationship history? Tit for tat? You want me to admit I fuck away my feelings instead of addressing them like a functioning person?”

Doyoung puts his coffee down, glad his hands don’t shake. “Yuta, how much did you drink?”

“I had one beer, honey, I’m not fucking drunk,” he says, eyes flinty. “And maybe I’m overstepping my boundaries here, but I thought from the way we were going, however slowly, that conversations like this would pop up now and again. If I have the wrong idea or I’ve crossed a line, feel free to tell me, but don’t for a second think I’m going to try and pull moves on a guy that’s in love with someone else.”

Doyoung just stares at him, uncomprehending as his brain tries to catch up with everything in Yuta’s expression, everything he said. All he manages to say, in a weak voice, is, “I’m not in love with Jaehyun.”

Yuta stares at him. “You mean it?”

He nods.

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

After a moment, Yuta nods. He picks up his coffee and takes a sip, relaxing back into the couch. “Great. Thanks for opening up, however reluctant. I appreciate it.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“No!” he says, sitting up again, eyes flashing. “Jesus Doyoung, I mean it. Getting anything out of you is like pulling teeth, but you told me what I need to know. I know it was hard, and I’m grateful you did it.”

“Okay,” Doyoung says. Things are awkward now, and he doesnt know how to remedy that. It feels like Yuta is leaking air, deflating very slowly, and Doyoung has the bandages but doesn’t know how to make them stick. He picks up his coffee, drinks, burns his tongue, and puts it back down. “In college Jaehyun was kind of perfect, you know? He still is, I mean, but I looked at him differently then. We loved the same things, our careers, our friends, each other. I always figured that if anyone was perfect for me, it was Jaehyun. And still, after the first couple of months it just... faded. Into something that wasn’t romance, it wasn’t being _in_ love, it was just love. There were no hard feelings when we broke up, but I think it hurt both of us more than we wanted to let the other know. It ruined my confidence, but that wasn’t Jaehyun’s fault. I’d pinned so many of my dreams onto him unfairly – I just thought, _Jaehyun is perfect. If it didn’t work with him, how can it work with anyone else? I’ll never find someone as perfect as him.”_ he clears his throat. “And I suppose every relationship since him has been me trying to find the perfect man, and then failing terribly.”

Yuta takes a moment, staring up at the ceiling with his coffee between his hands, legs spread, hair falling from its bun. He slides his eyes to Doyoung, head still back. “Have you ever thought that maybe imperfect is good too?”

“I hadn’t really considered the worth in a pursuit of something imperfect,” Doyoung admits. “But I’m starting to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Doyoung smiles awkwardly. “I thought perfect was a good job, serene temper, neat hair, polished shoes, fancy dinner and a tie collection. Maybe it isn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter if it is or not, right? If you’re not interested in perfect anymore.”

“I guess not.”

“There’s a lot of shit in this world honey, and very little of it is perfect. You’ll be a lot happier if you accept that you can love imperfections too.”

“I’m trying,” he admits, just above a whisper, “But changing your world view is hard. Striving for perfection and then finding that you’re not – you don’t meet your own standards, or anyone else’s – it’s a lot. I’m trying.”

Yuta puts a hand on his cheek. “You have the weight of a world on your shoulders that doesn’t need to be there,” he says, stroking Doyoung’s cheekbone with his thumb. His skin is warm and callused, his eyes deep and kind. “No one worth your time cares about you being perfect baby; we just want you to be you. Gummy smiles and quick temper, good cooking and unholy cleaning standards. You need to drop that weight, Doyoung, you really do. You’ll feel so much lighter.”

It takes all the courage in his stupid little heart, but he manages to say past the quivering in his throat, “I already feel lighter.”

Yuta’s smile is like sunshine. “Great. Wanna watch a thriller?”

“Yeah,” he whispers. Yuta nods and starts to pull away, but scared of his own impulsivity, Doyoung makes a weird, squeaky noise in his throat and yanks Yuta back, slamming their lips together so hard they both groan and pull away, hands over their mouths.

Yuta leans back, hands over his face, shoulders quivering.

Doyoung can feel his face turning purple, but his mouth hurts too much for him to fully register the humiliation. “Please leave me here to die.”

Yuta pulls his hands away from his mouth and laughs so loudly it echoes around the room, his eyes watery as he giggles. “We’ll –“ he gasps, “-We’ll work on that. Morning? In the morning? Once I can feel my lips again?”

“Go away.”

He keeps laughing. “Honey, come on.”

Doyoung pulls his knees up to his chest and scowls. “Put the film on or go to bed.”

“What happened to not worrying about perfect?”

“Bludgeoning you with my own teeth is a far cry from just being an imperfect first kiss, Yuta!”

“I liked it anyway. I like you anyway.”

Doyoung’s scowl melts away, along with his quickly building fears. “Oh. Morning then.”

“Morning,” Yuta agrees. He gets off the couch, pausing to drop a kiss to Doyoung’s hair, and then begins the ritual of wrestling with his laptop to find a film Doyoung likes.

They fall asleep on the couch together an indefinite amount of time later, Doyoung with his head on Yuta’s stomach, laid between his legs as Yuta snores lightly.

-

He wakes the next morning, disorientated and kind of gross, confused when the knocking that woke him continues once he’s awake. It takes him another long moment to realise it’s the door, and Yuta groans, poking him in the head. “See who it is?”

Doyoung grunts and pulls himself up, padding to the door in his wrinkled shirt and sweat pants, hair unkempt, teeth most definitely not brushed.

He half expects it to be Ten, leering and questioning the radio silence, but it isn’t Ten.

Donghoon looks Doyoung up and down, hands in his pockets, eyes carefully veiled. “Hey,” he says. “You... uh, you ready to discuss those bills?”

“Who is it?” Yuta calls from the couch. “If it’s Johnny tell him to suck my dick.”

“It’s Donghoon,” Doyoung calls back, voice high.

“Who?”

“My ex.”

Donghoon’s eyes narrow. “Who the hell is in our apartment?”

Yuta stumbles down the hall and drapes himself over Doyoung’s shoulders, rubbing one eye with his fist. He looks Donghoon up and down, and after a second he kisses Doyoung very gently on the cheek. “Hey,” he says, voice low and smooth. “This is the dude you threw out on his useless ass?”

“Kind of,” he chokes out.

Yuta squeezes his shoulder and kisses his cheek again. “Bring him in then honey, it sounds like there’s lots to talk about.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hindsight is rarely kind, but at least it’s useful.

A couple of months ago Doyoung would have struggled to have Donghoon back on his couch, a cup of coffee in his hands, immaculate shoes waiting by the door. It would have made him sick with fear and inadequacy, thinly veiled anger and bitterness. Three years he’d wasted.

However, hindsight and months sleeping alone have reminded him of a lot of things. Those three years weren’t just his, for one. Donghoon looks uncomfortable too, staring out of the window resolutely while Doyoung flicks through the bills he’s been handed and Yuta watches from his slouch against the wall, eyes hard. Neither of them had been happy. The burden of regret isn’t one he carries alone.

“Your coffee will get cold if you don’t drink it soon, honey,” Yuta says, disturbing the uneasy quiet but reminding Doyoung of his own mug.

Donghoon smiles faintly, though it lacks warmth. “You didn’t put enough milk in for him.”

“His tastes have changed,” Yuta says with a matching smile, though it’s more a baring of his teeth than showing any genuine amusement.

Doyoung sips his coffee and puts it back down. “It’s good, thank you.” He passes the bills back to Donghoon. “You’re right about the bills; I can see which payments are for commodities still in the apartment. Do you want to take any of them, or should I just pay you the difference?”

“I want the coffee maker.”

Yuta looks like he’s about to speak, but Doyoung shoots him a look and replies before Yuta can say anything. “Alright. Anything else?”

“The bluetooth speakers we bought last Christmas.”

“Fine.”

“That’s all I want. You can send me the money for the bed.”

“I will.”

He smiles again, thin lipped and unhappy. “Can we have a moment of privacy before I go?”

Doyoung’s stomach twists, but he nods. “Yuta, can you give us some space please?”

“You’ve got it boss.” Yuta passes, dropping a kiss to the crown of Doyoung’s head. He gives Donghoon a wave and heads into his room, closing the door softly.

There’s another uncomfortable pause before Donghoon says, “You look well.”

Doyoung raises his brows. “That’s generous considering I’m in last night’s clothes. Thanks anyway, I guess. You do too.”

“You know you look good in anything.”

He forces himself to smile. “How are you?”

“Okay. I’ve found an apartment, though it’s smaller than what I’m used to. It’s fine for just me.” Donghoon sips his coffee and makes a face. “Is Yuta a housemate or something else?”

“I don’t think you have the right to ask me that, Donghoon.”

“He’s possessive.”

“No he isn’t. He’s worried about me. There’s a big difference, and it doesn’t surprise me that you haven’t worked that out yet.”

Another pause, this one thicker. Is Yuta listening through the door, silently cheering Doyoung on? Or is he lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the hell he moved in with such a dysfunctional person? Donghoon clears his throat. “I deserved that, I suppose.”

Doyoung sighs again, exhausted to his bones. He’d thought he’d find the strength to be more mature than this. “You didn’t, I’m sorry. We’re past that now.”

Donghoon stares out of the window.

While he stares, Doyoung stares at his profile. In the morning light it looks as it always had; sharp and neat and clean cut.

It’s odd how wrong it feels.

Where Donghoon is sat - that’s _Yuta’s _spot. Yuta sits there and watches shitty television while Doyoung sends emails to his marketing teams, filling the silence with snarky commentary. Yuta sits there after he’s cleaned the bathroom without Doyoung having to ask him to. Yuta sits there with Doyoung’s head in his lap, smiling as they exchange half-hearted insults after dinner. Donghoon sits like the couch is different, uncomfortable now, stiff and unyielding like he’d always found Doyoung to be.

He turns and catches Doyoung staring, and gives a half hearted smile. “I miss you.”

_Liar._

It hurts that Donghoon can say something like that with a straight face, with honest eyes and a familiar expression, like their breakup was the heartbreak of the century and not a build-up of resentment that left both of them reeling. There’s no _missing. _There’s no yearning. Whatever they’d once had together had been gone well before they’d separated.

Doyoung battles down the venom in his throat and speaks as evenly as possible. “You don’t. I’m familiar and you miss familiarity, but you don’t miss me. You might miss the apartment and the coffee and the bluetooth speakers, but you don’t miss me.” He stands. “I’ll help you carry the coffee machine to your car. I think it’s time you left.”

Donghoon looks stricken. “Doyoung, I thought we could...”

“You thought wrong. I’ll send you your money as soon as it’s in my account, and then we’re done. I hope you find happiness, but whatever has been between us is over and that isn’t going to change.”

“Is it him?”

“No, it’s me,” Doyoung says. “We were finished well before I ever met Yuta. The fact that he treats me better than you ever did is inconsequential, because there was never going to be a chance for us to get back together even if I spent the next ten years single and lonely. I’d rather have self respect than settle for someone that doesn’t love me.”

“And he loves you?”

There’s no, _but I do love you._ No denial of what they both know is the truth this time.

“I don’t know. Maybe one day he will. He might already; we’ll have to talk about it. Like I’ve already told you though, that isn’t any of your business. Come on; show me where you’ve parked.”

Donghoon goes without further complaint, and by the time Doyoung has found his way back up to his apartment, the mugs are gone from the coffee table and Yuta is brewing the kettle in the kitchen. He looks at Doyoung. “You want a tea?”

“Yes please.”

“Okay. Why don’t you grab a shower? I’ll make us some lunch.”

Doyoung nods mutely and heads to the bathroom. He sees his towel on the hook, Yuta’s next to it. His shampoo in the shower next to sandalwood scented body scrub Yuta just bought for them to share. Their twin razors are above the sink, along with their toothpaste. Doyoung’s is almost empty; Yuta’s untouched because he prefers the taste of Doyoung’s brand. There are so many compromises that come with living together, emotions aside. Doyoung shares his toothpaste. Yuta cleans the bathroom. If a hookup goes wrong Yuta knows he can ring Doyoung and get a ride home. If Doyoung gets home from a meeting and feels so numb inside that it’s as if he’s nothing but a hollow shape, Yuta herds him into comfortable clothes and passes him a mug of tea and talks to him until he feels his limbs begin to thaw.

He showers slowly, methodically. He shaves too, and brushes his teeth, scrubbing away the remains of the coffee on his breath. He changes into fresh clothes. He combs his hair and parts it neatly.

Yuta is in the living room, sat on the couch in his spot. On the coffee table there’s a steaming mug of tea and a grilled cheese sandwich cut into triangles.

Doyoung sits down and reaches for the sandwich first, murmuring his thanks between bites.

Yuta just nods, scrolling on his phone. “You busy this afternoon?”

“No, why?”

“Wanna go get a new coffee machine? We can pick you up a new speaker too if you want.”

He finds himself smiling. “Do you miss the coffee that much already?”

“No,” Yuta says, still scrolling, “But now there’s something missing in our home, and I don’t like that he took it from you.”

Doyoung puts down his empty plate and reaches for the tea. It isn’t anxiety is his gut exactly, but something calmer. He’s not worried, just – uncertain. “He paid just as much for the coffee machine as I did, Yuta.”

“Yeah, but he only took it because he knows we were using it.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it. He looked me in the eye, smiled, and told you he wanted the coffee machine.”

“So he was being childish. What does it matter?”

Yuta stares at him, eyes wide. There’s something painful in his gaze, something Doyoung can’t identify. “Was it like that the whole time?”

“I don’t understand. Was what like what?”

“Was your relationship like that the entire time? Him taking from you just to get a reaction, you icing him out, him taking more, you getting more and more hurt, backed into a corner growing smaller and smaller while he keeps taking – is that what he did to you?”

It cuts deep. Doyoung puts his mug down so that he doesn’t spill anything, folding his hands in his lap. “That’s a lot to guess from a coffee machine, Yuta.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was such a sack of shit before he left? I would have thrown him out of the fucking window.”

“In the end of the relationship neither of us were kind. Neither of us were mature or polite or nice.” Doyoung thinks back on the three years of living with Donghoon next to an apartment shared by Johnny and Ten. Getting home at the same time as Ten, smiling as they meet at their doors, then parting. Ten going into a home where Johnny is dancing around the apartment in his stupid _kiss the cook_ apron, spatula waving as he fries fishcakes for dinner. Doyoung going inside to find Donghoon’s used takeout boxes sat empty on the kitchen counter, a note on the bed that just read _don’t wait up._

“Why are you making up excuses for him?” Yuta asks, eyes hot. “Even now, even when you don’t love him, when it’s over, when he’s taken your fucking coffee machine? Why?”

“Because I held him up to an impossible standard and it isn’t his fault he didn’t meet it.”

“Wanting someone to love you back isn’t an impossible standard!” Yuta shouts.

It hits like Doyoung like a smack, and he sits in stunned silence for a moment, unable to anything other than stare at Yuta. “You...” he stops. Swallows. Tries to find his voice. “You have a lot of opinions for someone that’s known me for less than a year. You have a lot of opinions for someone that’s lived with me for less than a year. You have a lot of opinions for someone that has never been in a relationship with me.”

“Yeah, I have a lot of opinions Doyoung. Would you rather I sat here in silence and nodded along while you blame yourself for shit that clearly isn’t your fault? Because I wouldn’t do that to a friend. I wouldn’t do that to an enemy. I don’t think I could ever do it to you.”

“You’ve only seen my side of the relationship.”

Yuta groans. “For fucks sake! I’m not saying you’re perfect, Doyoung! I live with you! I know you isolate yourself and I know you know too many facts about everything and insist on sharing them when I’m half asleep and can’t concentrate. I know you like the house tidier than a fucking showroom and that you split the cost of things straight down the middle. I know you hide your feelings because you like the excitement of banter but hate the pain of genuine confrontation. I know you you’re strong willed and can be selfish, and I know you have high standards, but none of that negates the fact that you deserve to love someone that loves you just as much. Everyone deserves that, even shitty Donghoon with his polished shoes and _our f_ucking coffee machine. You didn’t work together and that’s fucking fine, but I don’t care about his feelings being hurt, I care about yours.”

Doyoung can’t stand the intensity of Yuta’s gaze, so he looks away, out of the window. When he’s serious, Yuta’s face looks stern, harsh almost, eyes fiery. When he’s happy, his whole being radiates with joy. He switches so easily between emotions, one second laughing gleefully, the next teary and solemn. Doyoung would find it exhausting to be so free with his feelings. The strength it takes to be at ease with your own self isn’t something he’s familiar with.

And yet –

Yuta, who’s at ease with himself, with everyone, is at ease with Doyoung too.

Not just at ease, but happy. He likes living here. He likes living with Doyoung.

“Don’t you find me boring?” Doyoung finds himself asking. His voice starts off quiet, but as he speaks he gains strength, panic, anguish, and he grows louder, until he’s almost shouting. “Don’t you find me annoying? Stifling? Don’t you think I’m too anal and too controlling and too fucking grey? Don’t you think spending time with me is a drag? That I’m argumentative and waspish and frigid? Don’t you think you’re wasting your time?”

Yuta stares at him silently for a moment. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft. “No, Doyoung. I don’t think that. If someone has made you feel like that, all I can say is I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, because you as you are now are someone worth loving. You always have been, and you always will be, whether it’s me that gets the honour of loving you or someone else. You’re not wrong. You’re not too much or too little. You’re you, and I wouldn’t change that even if I could.”

“You can’t promise that you’ll always feel like that,” Doyoung whispers.

“You’re right, I can’t. I haven’t been in a real relationship since I was a teenager, so I’m probably going to be kind of bad at it. I was, uh. You know. Too busy whoring around, as Johnny affectionately puts it. Fucking away my problems.”

Doyoung wrinkles his nose ignores the swelling in his heart. “You’re being too crude.”

“Getting my dick wet.”

“Those were people, not conquests.”

Yuta smiles. “Getting my dick wet in another consenting, happy adult who also wanted their needs met for a night.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“But you’re still staring at my lips thinking about kissing me. Right?”

Doyoung climbs onto Yuta’s lap. “Right.”

And this time, much to their shared delight, he doesn’t slam their lips together. He stares at Yuta for a long moment, considering his options before he moves. He could kiss him quickly, then move away, wait for another time to build up the courage he’d need for more. He could skip kissing altogether and unzip Yuta’s pants, maybe enjoy the honk of surprised laughter Yuta would utter at the spontaneity of it all. He could kiss Yuta’s cheek, his forehead, the top of his nose, his chin. He could back away now and not do anything at all. Whatever he did, Yuta wouldn’t mind. Yuta would be happy with it, would continue to stare at Doyoung with soft, amused eyes, waiting for the next move. He’d let Doyoung lead. He’d let Doyoung stop, or start, or dither and pause.

“You’d let me do anything, wouldn’t you?” Doyoung asks.

Yuta’s smile widens. “Within reason. Don’t hurt me please; I’m incredibly fragile and sensitive.”

“Like cracked glass,” Doyoung agrees nonsensically. “You’re like a little daisy bobbing in a storm.”

Yuta giggles. “A stray kitten in a tree.”

“A penguin’s egg alone in the snow.”

“A toddler in the park that’s lost its left mitten.”

Doyoung kisses him.

Yuta’s hands find their way around his waist, tight and secure but not painful, just comforting and warm. Doyoung pulls back slightly and then kisses him again.

And again.

He feels Yuta’s smile against his mouth, but instead of worrying about what he could be laughing at, Doyoung smiles too, and then they’re laughing against each other’s mouths, eyes closed, breathless and giddy.

“I feel like a teenager,” Doyoung admits against Yuta’s lips. “Inexperienced and out of my depth.”

Yuta leans up and kisses him again, this time slow and drugging. “Good,” he says. “You should feel that. I do too. It’s different with everyone, right? Love for someone specific isn’t something you can feel twice, it’s different for everyone every time. This is new for both of us, and that’s okay.”

Doyoung blinks his eyes open. “Love?”

Yuta opens his eyes too, staring up at Doyoung with his pretty eyes and hair all over his face. “Am I going too fast for you?”

“Maybe a little,” Doyoung admits. His hands hold a slight tremor where they rest on Yuta’s shoulder, but most of it is excitement. “I might be ready for romantic declarations once we’ve bought another coffee machine, though. We could pick up some wine too, and a new speaker. If I drive you can think about a film for us to say we’re going to watch and then ignore while we fool around on the couch like the irresponsible idiots we can be for one night.”

“Just one night?”

“Just tonight,” Doyoung whispers. “I can only be irresponsible for one evening at a time. If you want longer, you’ll have to put in a formal request at the end of the designated period.”

“That sounds like a lot of paperwork.”

“It is,” Doyoung agrees. “Is that a problem?”

Yuta smiles again. “Baby if you’ve got a pen, hand me over those forms. Where do I sign?”

-

After so many months of living together, it still comes as a surprise when Yuta presses his face into the awkward gap between Doyoung’s shoulder and the mattress and starts to snore that night.

Doyoung stares at the ceiling for a moment, uncomprehending. He’d never heard it before, not when they’d slept together on the couch, not through the conjoining walls between their bedrooms. There were still things to learn, still things to work out.

Yuta chokes on a snort and wakes up violently. “Fuck! Sorry, was I snoring?”

“A little.”

“Sorry,” he says again, sighing. He snuggles back down into that gap and breathes methodically to calm his heart, which Doyoung feels beating unsteadily against his arm.

“It’s fine,” Doyoung says. He doesn’t face Yuta, nervous still of the little things, like eye contact in the dim midnight hours, bare toes prodding his leg, kisses in the dark. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuta says, linking their hands together. He presses a kiss to Doyoung’s shoulder. “This is gonna sound really weird, but sometimes I snore when I’m happy.”

“Huh?”

“Not all the time, you know? I have to be lying on my front, for one, and usually I need to be pretty fucking tired, so I promise it isn’t going to be a constant. It’s just, you know. You don’t know, actually, because I don’t know either. Look, I snore when I’m happy. Is that a deal breaker?”

Doyoung laughs.

Loudly.

Yuta pulls away and smacks the spot on his arm he’d just kissed. “Asshole, don’t laugh at me!”

“You-“ Doyoung wheezes. He knows he’s being too loud, that Ten and Johnny can probably hear him howling, but he can’t stop the laughter from bubbling over. What an exhilarating feeling to know you’re full of so much happiness that you can’t stop yourself from being loud. “You’re worried your snoring is a deal breaker but you pulled your dick out earlier without any fear and said _‘He’s been around but I promise he’s clean’?_”

“I take venereal health very seriously thank you very much, and I don’t take kindly to you-“

He’s drowned out by Doyoung’s laughter, and after a while, simply gives up.

Doyoung rolls onto his side and gathers Yuta, pouty and embarrassed, to his chest. He ignores the way his phone vibrates on his desk, undoubtedly Ten telling him to be quiet, and keeps laughing.

Yuta’s hands come up around him and hold him tightly as he laughs, and that’s kind of what it’s about.

They won’t always laugh at the same time, at the same things, at the same volume.

Sometimes Yuta will laugh and Doyoung will be the one holding him while he giggles, and sometimes it’ll be this, instead.

Yuta pouting as he stares at Doyoung cackling like a witch in the early hours, tears streaming down his face at the sheer _thought_ of Yuta being embarrassed about snoring over anything else.

“You’re mean,” Yuta mumbles.

Doyoung nods, sobering slightly. “Is that a deal breaker?”

Even in the low light, he can see the pearly shine of Yuta’s wide smile. “Not at all. Actually, it’s kind of hot. Fuck me?”

And then Doyoung is laughing again, but this time Yuta is laughing too.

There’ll be times of course where only one of them is laughing, or maybe neither. Still –

The best times are when they both laugh.

-

From: Ten  
Can’t believe I had to hear you orgasm and laugh like a hyena in the same night  
God hates me  
I want an orgasm too  
Johnny is asleep and I don’t wanna disturb him

To: Ten  
Stop texting me, I’m about to fuck Yuta. I need to focus.

From: Ten  
UGH YOU TEASE  
Oh wait Johnny is awake never mind! Now I’m going to get my ass eaten  
See you tomorrow!!!!!!  
Oh and congrats btw. From both of us to both of you. I'm so glad you sound that happy<3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to all for reading, kudos/comments/bookmarks are always appreciated and loved! <3 xo

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/Bookmarks/Comments always appreciated, thanks to everyone for reading! xo


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